


Make a Mess of Me

by annejumps



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bottom!Eames, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is glad to be in Paris again, and Arthur is glad to... well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make a Mess of Me

"Mombasa," Arthur scoffed, the effect somewhat altered by his panting and his very pink face. "I told you not to go to Mombasa."

"I love Mombasa," Eames defended. “Besides, I had things to do.” He made a valiant effort not to stutter over the last sentence, but it was difficult, as Arthur chose that moment to start fucking him a good bit harder.

“I don’t want to know.” Arthur chuckled breathlessly.

“I wasn’t planning to tell you -- oh, Arthur, just there, keep doing that very thing --”

“I hope it was worth it,” Arthur continued, sounding a bit strained. “Mombasa is dangerous as fuck for you.”

“It was worth it, love, the element of danger makes it all the more poignant when I’m reminded of why I like having you around,” Eames panted.

“And why might that be.” Arthur rolled his hips in some extraordinary circular fashion and Eames clutched his shoulders for dear life.

“For your cock, Arthur, for your fabulous todger,” Eames gasped, feeling that any sarcasm he’d attempted was ultimately lost.

“Is that so.”

“Dominick Cobb only had to... mention your name and I was in,” Eames continued. “Although I highly doubt he knew... exactly why I was in. _Oh_.... For someone so intelligent to be so... oblivious--”

“Stop talking about Cobb,” Arthur said, making a face.

“I’m very sorry, Arthur, didn’t mean to distract you from relentlessly buggering me.” Arthur suddenly started moving much faster and Eames groaned, head lolling back on his pillow. “Oh, that’s the stuff. God, I love Paris.”

“I thought you loved Mombasa.” How was Arthur still able to talk and think, damn him?

“I can love Paris and Mombasa. This is where we first met, you know.”

“I know, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Who knew we’d end up like this?” Eames asked flippantly, smoothing his hands down Arthur’s narrow yet muscular back.

“Everyone. Literally everyone could have predicted this,” Arthur replied, leaning in to kiss Eames, a consuming, demanding, and very thorough kiss. Eames eventually had to break it just to gasp out breaths, blinking up at Arthur.

“You missed this, huh?” Arthur’s grin was insufferably smug and Eames would have complained about this if not for the way Arthur underlined his question with another lovely swirl of his pelvis.

“Good Christ, yes, how much clearer do I have to make it,” Eames said, wrapping a hand around himself. “Come on, then, you call this fucking?”

Arthur drew his knees up a bit, raised himself up on his arms, and pounded tirelessly into Eames, who squeezed his prick, his mouth dropping open. “Always so easy to get a rise out of you,” he gasped.

At that, grinning, Arthur sat back on his heels, letting Eames’ legs spread more widely over his thighs, moving one big hand to cover Eames’ as he slowed his hips but went no less deeply. His gaze raked down Eames’ chest. No one had bedroom eyes like Arthur, and right now his were dark and heavy-lidded, the glint in them contrasting beautifully with his flushed face.

“Bloody hell,” Eames said, “get back down here. I won’t last at all if you keep looking at me like that.”

Arthur, laughing, pinched one of his nipples and leaned forward again, Eames’ legs wrapping around his waist as he did. He wasn’t sure which made the butterflies in his stomach worse, Arthur staring at him or Arthur being suffocatingly close, but at least this way he got to kiss Arthur. No time to examine why kissing him held such great appeal.

Arthur was tireless and a gentleman; he drew away for a moment to say “I’m not coming until you do” before Eames cupped the back of his head and pulled him in for another kiss. Arthur sucked his tongue and plundered his mouth and rolled his hips, and Eames decided lasting was no longer important; he wanked frantically and came, gasping, splashing Arthur’s stomach and his own, and sank back into the bed.

Arthur went faster and harder, and came with languid, deep rolls of his hips, shuddering, gasping out “Fuck” under his breath. He blinked down at Eames, his face red.

Eames grinned up at him and uncrossed his legs. Arthur chuckled, leaning in again; Eames set his arms over Arthur’s shoulders and met his kiss, a brief, ironically chaste one, perfect in its simplicity. They were quiet for a moment, just breathing.

Arthur raised himself up a bit, with a deep, satisfied-sounding sigh. “I’m going to shower now. Care to join me?” He extricated himself from Eames’ oddly heavy limbs and stood, stretching, taking off the condom.

“I’d love to, but I can’t seem to get up,” Eames declared, and yawned. “Jetlag, you know.”

Arthur laughed and strode to the ensuite, allowing Eames a nice long look at his absolutely perfect buttocks.

After mopping off his stomach with a tissue, Eames dozed for a bit in Arthur’s sinfully comfortable bed, listening idly to Arthur singing to himself in the shower. He then rediscovered the plate of fruits and croissants that had been sent up earlier only to be cast forgotten to the side of the bed, and started eating, suddenly ravenous.

As Eames was eating the last of a pastry and starting on some melon, Arthur opened the door, whistling to himself. A towel low around his waist, he started to shave, and Eames watched, answering Arthur’s questions about the time he’d spent with Saito, Fischer, and Browning despite the fact that just looking at Arthur was distracting, especially when he dropped his towel. But it was only to go to his wardrobe.

Arthur had been staying here for some time and there were little touches of him about: the coat hung on the wardrobe door, cufflinks scattered on the dresser. Eames liked to think of himself as another little touch. Well, perhaps not so little.

Humming to himself, Arthur dressed, knowing Eames liked to watch him. No underwear, as usual -- his trousers were far too tight for it. (This was one of Eames’ favorite things about him.) Socks. His striped dress shirt, tucked in neatly. His favorite boots.

He went to his dresser mirror and threaded his tie under his collar, and did a less than perfect job of knotting it, as was his wont. Eames had noticed the better the sex was, the worse his knot tended to be, and he doubted Arthur was fully aware of this. Perhaps he’d fix it later. Eames didn’t mention it.

"You know, I still don't think we can do this," Arthur remarked, buttoning his cuffs.

"Oh, I think we can do anything we set our minds to," Eames said, tone light. "Or were you talking about inception?"

Arthur turned to look at him. "I was talking about inception," he said after a moment. He turned back to the mirror. "But I have my doubts about us, too," he said; he was grinning, however, meeting Eames' gaze in the mirror.

Eames tutted, and grinned back. "You mustn't say such cruel things. You'll break my poor heart."

Arthur scoffed again. "Yeah, right. I'm the one in danger. You'd eat my heart for breakfast." His damp, rather long hair had been starting to curl, hanging over his temples, and it was a shame he was slicking it back now. Eames could see he was still smiling as he went to wash the pomade from his hands.

"You're horrible, Arthur. I don't know why I keep letting you fuck me ‘til I can't see straight," Eames called after him, sitting up a bit to take a slice of orange from the breakfast tray. He settled back into his nest of pillows with a contented sigh, and took a bite.

Arthur just laughed at him from the sink, and walked back to the bed to lean down for a kiss; Eames took hold of his tie to pull him in. Arthur was gorgeously neat and clean and pressed, and Eames felt extra debauched in contrast, his naked skin still cooling, the juice of the orange on his fingers and lips, his stubble scraping Arthur’s soft mouth. Arthur tasted faintly of toothpaste.

"Have a lovely day at work, dear," Eames said.

Arthur snorted, eyes crinkling in amusement as he straightened up, picking up his bag. "I'll see you in two hours, tops. Cobb’s not gonna be impressed by your complaints of jetlag. We’ve got work to do.”

As if Eames hadn’t spent days personally researching Browning and then flying halfway ‘round the world for said work. _Never change, Arthur_ , Eames thought, with far more fondness than was necessary, surely.

Instead of saying any of that aloud, he went with “All right, all right. I’m a consummate professional, et cetera, won't complain, won’t let on that we’re shagging like rabbits and all that sort of thing.” He gestured vaguely.

“If history is any indication, we’ll be fighting like cats and dogs, and no one will suspect me as the reason you’re so bowlegged,” Arthur said, looking smug, adjusting his shoulder bag and turning to head for the door.

Eames threw an orange peel at him, hitting his back, and Arthur turned slightly to look over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised and dimples showing. “Behave,” he mock-scolded.

“Never,” Eames replied with a wink, still grinning after Arthur shut the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Pierces' [Lights On](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u5Xf96j5qq4). Thanks to [Amy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asunder) and Liz for reading this over! (And anatsuno, when you get a chance! ;))


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